


In His Skin

by SenkoWakimarin



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gender Identity, Genderfluid, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-24
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2018-07-17 23:14:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7289917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenkoWakimarin/pseuds/SenkoWakimarin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nonbinary Roadhog learns to be comfortable in his skin. Junkrat watches, and likes what he's seeing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In His Skin

**Author's Note:**

> Taken from this lovely prompt on tumblr: "Roadhog finds the rest of himself. He feels whole finally. Nonbinary exploration with feeling pretty; dresses, lingerie, jewelry etc. Mako moves the performative guards aside, finding softness again but also an ignored vulnerability to embrace. Bonus, awed rat tops gently."

It starts off slow. Little pieces of jewelry he snags during heists and doesn’t pawn off right away. There’s a stirring, restless part of him he’s carried since before he donned the mask, and the first time he strings a rope of pearls around his neck is the first time he ever feels any relief to that anxiety.

He’s never been handsome, but there’s a certain ruggedness to his features that he’s always liked; he’d never thought of himself as unfortunate looking, but certainly never handsome. So it surprises him when he finds the right word for how wearing these little baubles and gems makes him feel; the word is ‘pretty’, and it’s so startlingly apt that for one dangerous moment he feels like he might break out laughing.

Not handsome, but somehow he can manage pretty.

That’s so funny he could just about puke.

It scares him at first. There were many things he learned about ‘being a man’ when he was growing up, none of which he’d ever thought much about but nearly all of which he had internalized. Now those things poison him and he barely can tolerate it. He’s sick as hell of burying parts of himself, sick of hiding. Sick to death of it.

And now he’s playing dress up, like a little girl getting into her mamma’s good jewelry.

The first time he tries a bra on, he finally understands the concept of a love/hate relationship. He loves the way it lifts his chest, turning the formless fat that cushions the muscle there into something shapely and sweet, but he hates the constraint. He doesn’t know that the fit is all wrong, and gets rid of the thing before ‘Rat can find out about it.

His first dress fits better, a thin cotton thing that hugs his belly and flares around his legs, changing his silhouette in a strange and subtle way. He enjoys the feel of the fabric even as he recognizes its tactical impracticality. Too easy to grab hold of, and his thighs would never stop chafing. He doesn’t notice Junkrat staring at him, unguarded and in dumbstruck awe, and throws the dress away in favor of his usual trousers.

Makeup only frustrates him; his hands are huge and imprecise, perfect for thrashing another body, for breaking bones and crushing skulls, but for the tiny details of doing up his face? He hasn’t a clue what he’s doing and he hates it from the word go.

What frustrates him most about that is the feeling that if he’s doing this, he should be doing it all the way. If part of him is so comfortable with female things, then shouldn’t all of him be? If he’s going to wear the rings and the necklaces, the diamonds and pearls, shouldn’t he be in it for the makeup and the frills too?

Being a man has never really seemed important to him, but if he likes some of these things, is something in him saying that he’s not a man? Maybe that’s what that restlessness he’s always felt has been about, maybe his whole life some little part of him was screaming that he was a girl.

It takes a long time of considering the question in rare, idle speculation for him to accept the answer that keeps coming back to him. He’s not a man, but he’s not a woman either. The need to identify one way or another is a prison in which he does not belong.

There’s a terrible freedom in that.

He learns to paint his own nails. He likes the way they look and it stops him from biting them; ‘Rat watches him pick out lacquers with a quiet fascination that ‘Hog doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand it, tries not to even think about it, until the smaller junker presents him with a fistful of nicked makeup products; eyeliner and mascara and a dark red lipstick that matches the nail polish ‘Hog had grabbed.

When he grunts something to the effect of ‘I don’t wear makeup’, Junkrat looks momentarily crushed, and then bounces back hopefully.

“I was just thinkin’... it’d look pretty nice if ya did.”

In the end, Roadhog winds up sitting on the edge of a hotel bed, freshly showered, with Junkrat sitting on the chair in front of him, kneeling really, carefully applying cosmetics to Roadhog’s broad features.

“If you make me look like a clown…” ‘Hog growls about five minutes into the experience, and Junkrat frowns at him in a way Roadhog has never seen before. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen ‘Rat look like he’s taking a thing so seriously before, and he decides not to finish his threat, sitting still again and letting the other return to work.

He had no idea that Junkrat had also nabbed the dress he’d tried on and then discarded, and doesn’t quite know how to react when it’s produced from ‘Rat’s bag after his makeup is done. He puts it on wordlessly, letting the smaller man zip up the back instead of just dragging it on the way he had the first time.

Junkrat insists on doing his hair, combing it into a fishtail braid Roadhog himself never could have managed. It falls neatly over one shoulder, silver and clean next to the pale blue of the dress.

The final result, when he takes a look at himself in the bedroom mirror, is surprisingly… appropriate, is the word he settles on. The lipstick makes his mouth look firm and sensuous, and the eyeliner and shadow create a smokiness that both hides the bags under his eyes and brings out a honey-gold tone to his irises he didn’t even know existed. He looks put together, pretty and soft in a way he can’t define better.

Softness was never something he expected he could present without feeling it a weakness, but here he stands, looking in the mirror and feeling stronger than ever.

He feels whole, that swarming anxiety for once banished entirely by what he sees in the mirror.  

It’s not the makeup or the hair or the dress. It’s not the new look that makes him feel so strong and together; it’s finally seeing that these things are possible for him, that despite all the careful guards he’s put up around looking and acting tough, being _this_ doesn’t change who he is. He doesn’t need eyeliner or lipstick or a dress, but he’s awed by the sweet vulnerability he feels in them, and the strength backing it up.

When he kisses Junkrat in impulsive thanks, some of the lipstick transfers to the other’s mouth, and ‘Rat laughs for a second before launching into ‘Hog’s arms, kissing him with fresh ardor. They make it to the bed before Junkrat breaks away, flopping down and tugging on ‘Hog’s arm to encourage him to join.

Roadhog hesitates for only a moment before laying down beside the other Junker, chuckling quietly as Jamie scrambles on top of him and returns to kissing him. He’s not an overly sexual being, is ‘Hog, but Junkrat brings out something like that in him.

Kissing is different, but he can’t pinpoint why. There have been kisses before, and there’s been love before too, but it’s never been quite like this before. Jamie had never shown much interest in topping before, for one thing, but it’s more than that.

There’s a slowness, a gentleness between them this time that simply hasn’t been there before. When he pushes inside, ‘Hog tosses his head back against the pillows, hair starting to fall loose from the braid Jamie had put it in, and sighs a low, growling sigh into the darkness of the room.

His fingers dig into the sheets, his legs spread as wide as he can get them for the smaller man, his hips gyrating in an attempt to spur him on. Junkrat holds on with surprising strength to Roadhog’s belly, fingers buried in the bunched cotton of the dress, rocking into ‘Hog with smooth, firm purpose. “Wanna be good fer you,” he pants, setting an agonizingly slow rhythm.

Roadhog rolls his head, baring his throat so Junkrat can nip and bite at the soft flesh of his neck. “Oh, you little...” he growls, fingers flexing and relaxing. “I c’d kill you for this, oh – I sh'd – Jesus, ‘Rat,”

“For what, for this?” He purrs, his voice husky and low as he gyrates his hips against ‘Hog’s. After that, the larger Junker doesn't quite seem able to make real words, only digging his nails into the sheets a little harder and gasping.

Bracing his mechanical hand on one of ‘Hog’s knees, adjusting their position so it's impossible for Roadhog to make even those tiny rocking motions, he silences his little growl of disappointment with a kiss, hard and breathless, as he pulls almost all the way out and then thrusts firmly back in. With his flesh hand, he grips ‘Hog’s cock and strokes him, leisurely and gentle. It occurs to neither of them that ‘Hog could at any time take control of the situation.

For the first time in a long time, Roadhog comes first, though Jamie is not far behind. It seems like it’s been hours, and they’re both exhausted enough to only go through the most necessary elements of cleaning up before going to sleep.

The next day, Roadhog dons his usual clothes, including washing his face of the last traces of makeup and putting on his mask. Ultimately, he knows, he doesn’t need the makeup, or the dress, or any of the rest.

His clothes are fine as they are, _he’s_ fine the way he is.

**Author's Note:**

> This was very heavily influenced by my own personal experiences as a NB person. I hope people like it.


End file.
